


Merlin, Arthur, and Sir Damas

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Actually, we just meant to kidnap Prince Arthur. I've got no idea what you're doing here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merlin, Arthur, and Sir Damas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a heavily adapted version of a story which I found in Roger Lancelyn Green's 'King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table'. 
> 
> Written for Ankaret

 

 

It wasn't the worst dungeon imaginable. The bare stone walls could be cheerier, and it would be nice to have a bit more light, but at least the straw was nice and fresh. "I think they've changed it since the last prisoner," he said.

He heard something snap. Hopefully just a stray twig. "Merlin," said Arthur, "I don't care about the straw."

*

Merlin didn't cope well with boredom. He never had: it used to drive his mum mad. 'Go and find something useful to do,' she'd tell him. 'And stop bothering me.' So he'd go and look for something useful to do, and then get in trouble for having mud-fights with Gavin and setting fire to Millicent's hair.

Maybe he could set fire to the cell door. It was made of wood, after all. Would Arthur find it suspicious if the door spontaneously burst into flame with no apparent cause? He could be quite thick sometimes.

Of course, the straw would be set on fire as well. He would have to sweep it out the way first. And while Arthur might just accept mysterious fire burning the door down, he'd probably think it strange if Merlin tidied the cell in preparation. He would have to think of something else.

Maybe just opening the door. Did doors sometimes unlatch themselves? 

"Merlin," said Arthur, "Please stop muttering under your breath."

*

"Do you think they'll come to rescue us," said Merlin, "Or just leave us here to die?" He'd have to reveal his magic to Arthur if that happened. He wondered if he should put a time limit on it: if five days passed with no rescue, he could tell Arthur. Or maybe just three...

"Of course they're not going to leave us here to die," said Arthur. "I'm the prince."

"Aren't you at all worried?"

"They've probably already presented the ransom demand to my father. It's a little humiliating, I admit, but we'll have our revenge." Judging by his tone of voice, he'd make sure of it.

Merlin thought of another problem. "What if they don't know you're the prince?"

"Why else would they have captured me but left all the knights we were with behind?"

That did make sense. From what Merlin remembered, the bandits had definitely been targeting Arthur. They'd only paid attention to the other knights when they'd needed to defend themselves from attack. "But," he said, "Why would they have brought me?"

From what he could make out in the gloom, Arthur looked thoughtful. "I can only assume they want me to reveal Camelot's secrets."

"What?"

"Work it out."

*

Merlin edged around the wall of the cell till he sat next to Arthur, leaning into the warmth of the other man's body. He didn't have to look at Arthur to know the look he was getting. "What?" said Arthur.

"I'm cold." It was true: the temperature of the cell had been dropping as night fell, and Merlin's shirt offered very little protection against the chill. Arthur's wouldn't either, but of course he would never admit it. Princes of Camelot didn't get cold. 

The pressure against his side increases slightly, which he supposes is Arthur's version of a hug. Merlin responds by slinging an arm around Arthur's shoulders. The muscles tense beneath his touch, but he knows that if he leaves it there long enough they'll relax eventually. "They'll probably come tomorrow," says Arthur. "The time it took to bring us here, plus the time taken to send a messenger to Camelot, plus the time for my father to respond. We could be freed tomorrow morning."

Merlin thinks he knows why Arthur is putting so much trust in his father paying a ransom. It's because there's nothing else he can do. They've taken his sword and locked him in a cell from which he can't escape, so he has nothing to do but trust that his father will do anything to get him back safe. And he could well be right: maybe tomorrow they'd be on their way back to Camelot.

But Merlin struggled to believe it could be so simple. "Arthur," he said. "What if that doesn't happen?"

"Merlin," said Arthur. "Shut up."

*

"I am Sir Damas," announced the man framed in the door to their cell. "I am the lord of these lands."

Merlin stood a little straighter, and attempted to smooth down his hair where it was sticking up on one side. It was hard to stand up to someone when you looked like you'd just rolled out of bed. Arthur didn't look like he was having any problems, however: as he stared down his nose at Damas, he looked every inch his father's son. "Why have you brought us here?" he demanded. "You cannot expect my father to let this pass without retribution."

Damas shrugged. "I have more pressing worries than your father." To Merlin, that didn't sound good, and the growing tension he could feel in Arthur didn't help. "I rule only a small fiefdom, and have no way of raising a large army. We are constantly threatened by larger and more powerful lands, and are at risk of being overrun by Mercia. But they have agreed to withdraw if we defeat their champion in single combat." He shrugged. "He is a renowned fighter. We have no one who could beat him."

"So you kidnapped us?" It made sense, Merlin supposed, but he still couldn't help feeling slightly outraged. What happened to just asking?

Damas looked at him with confusion. "Actually, we just meant to kidnap Prince Arthur. I've got no idea what you're doing here."

A thin man standing to Damas' left helpfully piped up. "Leverage, sir. Prince Arthur seemed very protective of him during the fight, so we thought he might be useful."

"You must be joking," said Arthur. "This makes no sense. What does any of that have to do with me?"

It was a good thing, thought Merlin, that he was so handy with a sword. "They want you to fight for them."

"You cannot be serious!" Arthur took a step forward, every guard in the room suddenly bristling with weaponry. Arthur took a step back. "As if I would ever fight a battle for someone who had kidnapped me."

"We had hoped you would be moved by our plight," said Damas. "There are many poor widows and children who rely on my protection..."

"I've heard of you," said Arthur. "If they are poor it's because you suck them dry with high rents. Under the King of Mercia they might be better off."

Merlin eyed the guard standing nearest to him - the one with the really, really big sword. "I'm sure you don't mean that, Arthur." He gave Damas his best smile. "Arthur is a prat sometimes and says things he shouldn't. Maybe once you've let us go we could talk about this in a bit more detail." It sounded reasonable to him.

Not to Damas. He smirked at Merlin, before looking back at Arthur. "Fine," he says. "If you refuse to fight willingly, I'll have to force you." He flung out an arm to point at Merlin. "Fight, or my guards start chopping."

*

Arthur didn't like the borrowed armour. He didn't like the borrowed sword, either. Nor did he like the crowd, or the ground, or the guards, or his shield. Most of all, however, he didn't like Merlin. "I don't see why you couldn't have just kept quiet," he hissed. "But no, you had to speak up. As always."

"Yes, because you were doing so well at talking us out of there." Arthur's own equipment had mysteriously gone 'missing'. Merlin wondered if its new owner would consider it more valuable as it was or melt it down. "You can beat this guy, right?"

"Of course I can!" Arthur looked over to where his opponent was preparing. "His name is Sir Accolon," he said, biting his bottom lip. "He's supposed to be very good."

"You'll be fine," said Merlin, then patted Arthur's arm. Sometimes he wished he could do more to take the burden off Arthur's shoulders: maybe he had to worry about protecting Arthur, but Arthur worried about much more than that. About much more than he should, in Merlin's opinion. "You'll win."

"I've not got my own sword, my own armour - not even my own boots!" He looked down at them in disgust, and Merlin refrained from pointing out that having boots put him one up on Merlin, who was still barefoot. Arthur squinted as he studied his opponent. "He's bigger than me."

"Slower," said Merlin.

"Longer reach," said Arthur.

A trumpet sounded. "Stop fussing," said Merlin, and gave Arthur's shoulder another pat. "Go win."

*

The sword sliced across Arthur's chest, tearing his surcoat and forcing him to stumble back. Accolon followed with two heavy blows. Arthur struggled to catch them on his shield. Merlin could see the strain on his face from ten yards away.

Then Accolon kicked out, and it was only through luck that Arthur didn't end up on the ground. Merlin turned away, his chest feeling tight. There had to be something he could do. Anything to stop Arthur losing this fight.

Because he was losing. Merlin might not know much about sword-fighting, but he could see the blood on Arthur's face, his hands, his legs. He noted every stumble and every hesitation. Arthur's sword seemed useless, and his armour might as well have been made of butter for all the good it did against Accolon's sword.

A spell to strengthen metal. Or a spell to enchant a sword. Except he didn't know, couldn't think of the words to do something so specific. And with all these people watching he couldn't make any mistake.

He turned back to the fight just in time. Accolon brought his sword smashing down, and Arthur raised his own sword to catch the blow. The noise as they clashed echoed. 

Arthur's sword shattered.

Merlin took several breaths to realise what he had seen. Arthur stood with a useless hilt in his hand, raising his shield against further blows. Accolon showed no chivalrous behaviour, just smirked and swung his sword around his hand: showing off, knowing Arthur was helpless. He raised his arms above his head, sword raised high as Arthur readied himself with his shield. 

Merlin stared at the both, his eye caught by the sun glinting off Accolon's gold belt-buckle.

Belt-buckle. Of course.

It happened too fast for any observer to understand what had happened: one moment Accolon was about to strike Arthur down. The next, his belt was around his knees and his next step sent him crashing to the ground.

Merlin tightened the belt a little. Just in case Accolon decided to try getting up again.

But Arthur, standing over him, didn't give him the chance. He grasped the sword hilt in the hands, and brought it smashing down on Accolon's skull.

Merlin wished he hadn't heard the sound it made.

*

"Do you think there'll be dancing at the feast?" wondered Merlin. "Do you think they'd mind if we sat it out? Because - "

"Shut up."

Well, he knew Arthur didn't like dancing, but surely just mentioning it didn't deserve that response. "I was only asking."

"We're not going to the feast, you idiot."

Merlin stopped trying to make his new boots two sizes bigger, and turned to look at Arthur instead. Or Arthur's arse, if he was honest, but what did the other man expect if he bent over like that? "We're climbing out the window instead?"

"We need to escape." Arthur crossed the room to press his ear against the door. 

"From the food and wine?" Merlin had imagined that this night would make up for the last. With the battle won, Damas seemed entirely welcoming, offering them the best rooms in the castle and all they could eat and drink. The smells rising from the kitchens had been growing increasingly tempting. "I don't suppose escaping will also involve eating?"

"No."

Figured. "So, do tell. Why are we escaping?"

Arthur heaved a sigh, as if Merlin was the thick one. "Damas will never let us go. He knows we'll go straight back to my father, who will then raise an army. Damas can say good-bye to his independence."

Good-bye to his life, if Merlin knew Uther. "Okay, we escape. Out the window?"

"I don't see any guards below."

"Out the window."

*

Arthur spent the next few weeks dropping nonchalant references to his mighty victory over Sir Accolon, until Morgana started pointing out that he'd returned with a suspicious number of injuries for someone who'd won so convincingly. Merlin kept his mouth shut and acted as thick as possible. Sometimes, at night, he remembered Arthur lying on the ground with Sir Accolon standing over him, but he didn't like to dwell.

Merlin spent quite a bit of time with his new stolen horse, attempting to understand the minds of horse-lovers, until one day she managed to untie herself from a tree while he was collecting water. The last he saw was her tail headed in the direction of Damas's stronghold. Or what was left of it.

He stared in that direction now, trying to imagine how different the world would look through a horse's eyes.

"Merlin!"

"Yes, Arthur?"

The stamp of boots behind him suggested Arthur probably thought Merlin should turn round, but Merlin didn't like to give him his own way too often. "I'm going hunting," snapped Arthur. "Come and get ready."

Merlin remembered the way their last hunting trip had ended. "This time," he said, "Do you think we could aim for a dungeon with windows?"

"Shut up," said Arthur, and then just in case Merlin wasn't clear: "You idiot." 

 


End file.
